All the lives that were lived out around them, all the loves they’d have born witness to. BJ and I have a tree that proves we loved each other once upon a time and a stone in front of it that I hope stays there forever, but willow trees don’t last. Only thirty years — that’s what it said when I Googled it. It’s already nearly twenty years old. The great monument to our love is a withering tree and a blank stone that means the world to me and maybe nothing to anyone else.
